


love, the dragon

by lochTenderness (theseourbodies)



Series: Asteroid B 612 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous Trauma, Living Together, Nightmares, Other, Recovery, Smoking, tie-in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/lochTenderness
Summary: Ok, so I'm the dragon. Big deal.You still get to be the hero.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru
Series: Asteroid B 612 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008567
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	1. longing

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from [ _Litany in which certain things are crossed out_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48158/litany-in-which-certain-things-are-crossed-out) by poet Richard Siken.
> 
> Prequel/tie-in to [roses on asteroids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604164)
> 
> Written for HQ!! Angst Week

You don’t dream much, but sometimes you wake up to find Hajime sleeping upright, slumped against the wall next to your headboard, close enough to touch you, though he usually sleeps with his arms stubbornly crossed. You don’t dream, you don’t think, but you’ve always been too scared to ask him if you’re the reason that he can’t sleep, if it’s something you’re doing that’s keeping him awake. Something you’re doing or, worse, something you’ve done. 

And honestly, what’s worse? Waking your partner up with screaming nightmares you don’t remember, or being the cause of nightmares that are keeping him awake? You don’t want to know. You pretend that you don’t care, but you’re always careful to let him sleep longer when you wake up to find him like this, pushed into a corner by the things that come at night for him or for you. 

You like it best when you have nights working on the big lobby arrangement at the hotel; both of you take solid naps after closing the shop, and then head out just past midnight. Hajime sleeps on the way there, snoring softly in the passenger seat; you sleep in the way back, feeling safer there than you do possibly anywhere else, with your life entirely in the hands of a license-less driver during the dog watch. Sometimes, you fake it. Sometimes, you slit your eyes open and listen to him hum nonsense under his breath, watch him smile softly at nothing, or at you. When you were both younger, this was easier, you think. You had your own rules, and you stuck to them. You had an image and a purpose and you couldn’t do anything to harm the things you were loyal to. 

It hurts now, to think that Hajime, your Hajime, would ever be something that could cause harm to the things that you had both dedicated your lives to. It hurts, now, to think about what you were like, before, what you denied him and yourself. Sometimes, when you catch him sleeping with you on one side of him and a wall at his back, you reach a hand out and hover it just over his cheek. You used to know what was an wasn’t too much. You used to have rules, but you left those behind when you resigned from the organization. You left a lot of things behind, good and bad things, but sometimes you think the most important thing you left behind was the way that you knew how and how not to touch him. 

So, when you wake up in the morning and he’s sleeping beside you, you quietly sneak out of your own bed and drink instant coffee among the planks and tidy stacks of plastic that will be a greenhouse soon on the roof, waiting for him to come and find you. That, at least, hasn’t changed. That, at least, is familiar. 


	2. Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, I did angst week day 2 twice, what of it

Running a flower business is almost as complicated as your old career. You press the end call button on the silly, fluttering voice on the other end of the line frantically trying to explain where, exactly, your two dozen domestic rose bushes are with a deep, measured breath. You never used to be the type of person to throw things in a temper and you’re damn well not going to start now, but—wow, throwing your phone against the tile of your kitchen is more appealing right now than usual. 

“Oi.”

Your reflexes are as good as they ever were. Better, now, considering your hands don’t shake like they used to. You catch whatever it is without a blink when Hajime throws it to you. Super Lights, body warm, a little flattened. 

“You were pacing,” he says, attention back on his laptop keyboard. His typing’s good, but the way he has to watch his fingers makes you twitch. He doesn’t say anything else, because it’s not like you both don’t know damn well what the hell you were looking for with your hands picking fitfully at the lining of your trouser pockets. There’s a whiteboard on the refrigerator where you’re tracking the days and you check it on reflex, in case the numbers changed. It hasn’t, you think. You’re almost positive. 

“Ah,” you say just to let him know that you understand. You take a cigarette from the pack and head for the door, still staring warily at the sloppy 58 on the board, just in case. Just in case. 

The rooftop of the shop is a paradise even with a half-built greenhouse cluttering it up. Chairs, you think hazily, wandering around the organized chaos typical of Hajime’s projects. Need some chairs up here, I’ll have to tell—to tell—

The sun spills orange across the purple twilight. You lose your train of thought and let it go. Whatever it was is suddenly much less important than it was at the moment of realization. Fifty-something days in (Fifty-six? Fifty-eight.) and that’s been easier to handle. You still hate to lose; it’s just that not everything you lose is a loss anymore. 

It’s not better, or worse; it’s just different, and you’ve gotten used to that distinction, too. 

You smoke until your breath catches is your throat. You don’t have any chairs up here, but there’s a familiar old ashtray tucked beside the door, which says a lot about the two of you, you think. Fifty-something (fifty-four? Fifty-seven? Fifty-eight, fifty-eight,) days in, and the thought just makes you laugh to yourself as you head back in to the loft. Time to really find out where the hell all your roses are.

You pop the door open with a flourish and announce: “Alright Iwa-chan, no more Nice Florist-san!” down the stairs.

“This about the roses?”

“What else would it be about, Iwa-chan? We’re only two months out from White Day!”

“They’re en route.”

“I—what?”

“They’re on their way. That salesman managed to magic up our order, finally.”

You stare at Hajime’s back. He’s leaning back from their kitchen table and scratching too-casually at his stubbly chin. There are not many things that Hajime hates more than talking on the phone. The insulation in the loft is terrible, but you hadn’t even heard him talking through the door to the roof. You glance nervously at the number on the whiteboard, but it hasn’t changed. 

“Is that so.”

Hajime hums. The tips of his ears are red, and it’s possible that you’ve never loved anyone more in your entire life. “You have my smokes?” 

He still hasn’t looked at you, which is fine. You can feel the big, stupid smile on your face and you don’t want to go giving him ideas about your relative mental state. 

“Ha? I have a pack of cigarettes, but I don’t have yours.”

He turns very slowly to stare back at you. You blink innocently, smoothing your smile into something more serene. 

You refuse to budge when he gets slowly to his feet, his scowl growing darker. “Oikawa. Do you have my pack of cigarettes?”

You tap your chin with the pack in your hand, humming to yourself. “Hmmmm, I don’t know if I’ve seen them, Iwa-chan. Did you forget where you put them? We might have to watch that, make sure that Iwa-chan isn’t going senile in his old age—Ah! Wait, wait, wait not the hair--!”


	3. Photograh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HQ!! Angst Week Day 3 Photographs
> 
> Making a life together is hard, sometimes.

The greenhouse is about the only place  either of  you can get a tan , considering Hajime’s long-sleeves- only rule and your own nerves . You spend your Mondays (when the shop is closed ) gleefully stripped to the waist in the muggy heat of the greenhouse, telling gossip to the  hydrangeas, flirting with the roses and the peonies ,  and shamelessly bullying your project bonsai trees into damn well doing what they’re supposed to do in between installing long-awaited shelves against the walls . 

It’s a perfect sweet-spot between the early morning and the afternoon when the birds have settled and  the breeze hasn’t picked up, but you still almost miss the soft shutter sound of a phone camera going off.  You jerk your head up from you had been gently menacing a  dwarf pine that was growing branches where it shouldn’t to come face to startled face with Hajime, who hastily stashes his phone back in the pocket of his hideous cut off sweatpants. 

“Uh,” you say, staring. 

“Uh,” Hajime offers .

“ Iwa-chan , did you just—”

“Look, can we just—”

You both stutter to a stop. 

You want to do something terrible and pompous, toss your head and say ‘Of course  Iwa-chan wants a picture, the great Oikawa-san is always beautiful,’  but  you  can’t make  your  shoulders unclench or  your mouth stop gaping. 

Hajime looks away first when he brings his hand up to cover his mouth, half-hiding. 

“Sorry. I won’t—again. I won’t.”

I want you to, you think, suddenly, unstoppably . “You can!”

Hajime jumps, and you almost jump, too. Ridiculous, this is  _ ridiculous.  _ “I meant, you can, of course, but on one condition! ” You feel wild, suddenly, reckless, even though  what you want is so basic it’s childish. “ You have to be in one , with me. One  picture with me , and then  Iwa-chan can take as many sneak shots as you like .”

You can see immediately that that wasn’t good. His face is so open for you; he’s always been your favorite reading material and you  have to watch him shut down in agonizing motion. No! You almost shout at him. I didn’t mean it, you don’t have to, I’ll sit and let you take a hundred  pictures. But you don’t say anything; he won’t be able to  hear what you want to say now, anyway. 

“Sorry. I’ll delete it,” he says, stiff . Y ou let yourself sigh ; you know damn well when you’ve lost . 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, but he’s already gone through the open greenhouse door. 

Seventy days even, and you still can’t help but trip yourself up.  You  had your rules, but sometimes you conveniently forget that he had his, too.  When he leaves, you don’t go after him. 


	4. Broken Promises/Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last but hardly least

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: Smoking addiction_

Around day ten, it had been Suga who had suggested cigarettes, under duress and “as your friend and not as your medical professional.” Almost a year later, it’s Suga that also suggests quitting, “as both your friend and as your medical professional.” 

You don’t make any promises, but you do it anyway. You do, until the next time you have to use every ounce of steel in your body on some snot-nosed middle-manager trying to tell you how you ought to be running your business. You walk around with smoke on your clothes for the rest of the day, unrepentant even when Hajime wrinkles his nose at you. You do, until the next time you catch yourself wandering the entire house, anxiously picking at your cuticles and opening and closing all the kitchen drawers and cabinets before you realize what you’re doing. You quit, and then you quit again, and then after the third time you throw your pack away and spend the week irritably snapping at Hajime to keep from snapping at your customers. 

Thirty-ish days after the last time you quit, you come home from Ace’s with a pack stuffed in your back pocket; you don’t remember buying it, and that ought to scare you more than it does, but instead you go up to the roof to smoke and talk to the new row of sunflowers Hajime had potted a few days earlier. Hajime finds you there and finally, something gives. 

“Really? In the greenhouse?” 

“Are you complaining as my friend? Or as my medical provider?” 

“It _stinks,_ Oikawa. Pretty soon it’s going to be too cold to air this place out and I don’t want all the flowers smelling like smoke.” 

Oh fuck _that._ You aren’t so furious that you flick the butt away into the flowers, but you smash it under your heel viciously, grinding it deep. “You--!” 

“If you don’t want to quit, don’t,” Hajime cuts you off, blunt as ever. “But just stop being stupid about it. You never used to be this indecisive.” 

“Indecisive!” 

Hajime jerks his chin, chewing something steadily. “’S what I said.” 

You open your mouth, furious, but he blows a bubble between you and you realize with a jolt that that’s all you’ve seen in his mouth for a while. For a long time. You remember the nauseatingly annoying popping and chewing after the first time you gave in when Hajime had stubbornly gone through an entire pack of bubblegum. You’ve gotten so stupidly used to the sound it barely even registers when he pops the bubble and cracks the wad against his teeth. 

“You quit,” you say, stupidly, and Hajime just grins. 

“Yeah, thanks for noticing.” 

“You—why?” 

Hajime walks deeper into the greenhouse and doesn’t answer immediately. He squeezes into the aisle formed by their well-matured rose bushes and patiently picks up the butt you’d just ground into the tarp. “Didn’t want you to go it alone. And Sugawara said it was a good idea, so.” 

You stare, feeling—small. Small and stupid, and fragile, like you haven’t for a long time. Hajime straightens one of the trough with the sunflowers carefully lined up in it and looks up at you with a stubborn set to his jaw, his shoulders. 

“Just seemed like the thing to do,” he says, too quiet in the still, warm air. 

_Seemed like the thing to do for me,_ you think, and your gut clenches. It’s such a small thing, such a small, huge thing, and you feel it suddenly like a weight on your chest, crushing your lungs. 

“There has to be a limit to what you’re willing to give up,” you say through a stiff mouth, and oh, that’s nasty of you. You know all his softest places; hell, most times you’re the one that left the first bruise on them. His existence was carved out for such a strict purpose, before, and you know that he worries about how to exist out here, where the old rules don’t matter. You bite your lip and you don’t take it back. 

Hajime doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says, in that still-deep-waters way he has sometimes. “And there will be, someday.” 

He straightens up, set to walk away from you because you both have to walk away from one another sometimes, but you find you can’t let him. You grab for his elbow, not quick enough that he can’t dodge, but when he lets you grab him you hold him hard enough that he can’t walk away again. 

“There have to be limits,” you says again, feeling heavy, weighed down. For me, you think, nearly delirious; for me, and for you, too. 

Hajime cracks his gum at you—sweet, obnoxious, and later you’ll treasure that; you love the parts of him that are just Hajime and nothing else—and smiles. 

“Oikawa, there are. You just don’t get to set them. Not for me,” he tells you, and that’s sweet, too, spearmint gum and that promise. It should hurt you somewhere in your mind, to never even be offered this control over how much he will have to give up for you, someday. Instead, because you’ve always been a little terrible, a little monstrous, it settles you. 

You look away first. 

You set your left hand on his arm, just over where you’re holding him fast. You touch the inky waves there, the jagged edge of the worn maple leaves. You think of the first promise he ever made you, and how he’s never broken it, not once. 

“Alright?” He asks, and the question hangs over your bowed head. With only a seconds hesitation, he rests his hand on yours. 

“…Alright,” you breath, and that’s a promise, too, one you’ll be keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all the way to the end! I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> _"For a while I thought I was the dragon.  
>  I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was  
> the princess,  
> cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,  
> young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with  
> confidence  
> but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,  
> while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,  
> and getting stabbed to death.  
>  **Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.  
>  You still get to be the hero.**"_


End file.
